


The Paris Job

by HyenaInASportsBra



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 17:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyenaInASportsBra/pseuds/HyenaInASportsBra
Summary: What would the world be like if Sly Cooper never existed? Who would take up the Cooper mantle? And who would pursue them?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, back out of retirement for another semi-long fanfic of a fandom I was only recently introduced to! 
> 
> This was produced after many conversations with the king of Zooplecoop fics, IronicSnap (please read his stuff, it's 100% excellent) regarding a 'Spiderverse' scenario for the Sly Cooper franchise. I wondered aloud how it would be if Carmelita was the thief instead, and... this sort of just happened.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy it!

Carmelita sniffed, holding the bloodied rag against her bruised cheek. Dirt clung to her unruly mass of curly, black hair and deep orange fur as she huddled against the wall in the orphanage's main hallway. She looked down at her scuffed sneakers and the ragged edges of her shorts. She grit her teeth, biting back tears. Her face hurt.

Coach Murray McSwain's office door opened, and a hulking shadow fell on her. The massive hippopotamus loomed over her, scowling behind his huge, bushy mustache. A green figure scampered out of the office behind him and joined the fox in the hallway, kneeling beside her. 

“Sorry, CC,” he whispered, the red marks on his cheeks streaked with tears. 

“It’s okay, Bentley,” she whispered back. 

Coach McSwain held the door to his office open. Carmelita’s expression tightened, and she rose, fists clenched as she was ushered inside. 

“Sit,” Coach ordered. The hippo settled his huge frame on the straining office chair on the other side of the desk as the fox climbed into a seat. 

“Carmelita-” he started.

“They were picking on Bentley! And then they-!” She blurted. 

“Carmelita.” Coach boomed. She went silent, tears welling. “This is the third time in a month. Ya gotta stop getting into fights-“

“I know, but-!” Coach’s glare cut her off. “But it’s not fair...”

“I understand, Carmelita,” he said, expression softening as he spoke. “Many things aren’t fair.”

Carmelita looked down, wringing the end of her tail out of habit. The adrenaline had drained from her, and she felt worn.

“Ya can’t just start swingin’ whenever somebody picks on you. That kinda thing could really get ya hurt- trust me.” He sighed. “I know how hard life's been to ya, girly. Anyone that's got half a brain can see how unfair that is for a little 'un like you. But you ain't makin' it any easier on yourself going after everyone who so much as looks at ya funny. You're gonna end up in a world o' trouble keepin' that kinda stuff up.”

“I-I know, Coach,” the fox said quietly. “I just... I can't help it.” She looked up, brown eyes shining with tears. “I can't let 'em get away with it.”

McSwain regarded her for a long, silent moment, watching her fiddle with her tail fluff. Suddenly the chair complained loudly as he rose again.“I guess I have no choice...”

Carmelita grit her teeth and closed her eyes as her ears folded, fighting tears, waiting for the inevitable. She’d been at the orphanage barely a year. She missed the Cooper manor. She missed her parents. She didn’t want to lose Bentley now, too. 

A pair of boxing gloves plopped into her lap. 

“What...?”

“Somethin’ tells me you’re always gonna be punchin’, Carmelita Cooper,” Coach intoned with a smirk. He draped a towel over his shoulder and tossed another at her. “Might as well teach ya to punch constructively.”

She blinked. “...Can Bentley come, too?”

“Sure, if it keeps you squirts out o' trouble,” he laughed a great booming laugh, and the sound shook the windows. He left the office and headed towards the gym.

Carmelita scrambled after him into the hallway, grabbing Bentley by the hand and dragging him along behind her.

“Wait, w-where are we going? Where’d you get those gloves? CC?? Carmelita...!”

-

Alright, let's do this one last time.

My name is Carmelita Cooper. When I was just a baby, I was adopted by a sweet couple named Connor and Trixie Cooper. They raised me like I was their own blood, and we lived happily together, just a normal, every day, middle-class run-of-the-mill family. Mostly.

Turns out, Connor Cooper was from a long line of master thieves who kept all their secrets of sneaking and stealing in an ancient book: the Thievius Raccoonus. Anyone who read it learned to be especially sneaky, which is why they specialized in stealing from criminals. After all, there's no honor, no challenge, no fun stealing from ordinary people. You rip off a master criminal, and you know you're a master thief.

However, no ordinary burglar could hope to read a few pages and turn invisible. You see, the Thievius Raccoonus is written in an encrypted language known only to those in the Cooper family line. Once a Cooper is old enough, their parents teach them how to decode the pages and learn the ancient secrets within.

But on the night I was supposed to receive my first lesson, five visitors came unannounced to our door. My parents fought to protect us, but the gang of villains known as the Fiendish Five overpowered them, ending their lives and stealing Connor's most valuable thieving tool: his cane. As an additional insult to his legacy, they broke it into separate pieces and each villain disappeared to the farthest corners of the world to commit dastardly crimes.

I was only saved by cowering in the closet, clinging to the Thievius Raccoonus, the last thing I had received from my adoptive parents. Broke and alone, I was left at the nearest orphanage. There, I met the two people who would become my lifelong friends and crew: Bentley Martin, tech-wizard, and brilliant strategist who's been helping me slowly decode the pages of the Coopers' book, and Murray McSwain, full-time Coach, part-time boxer, footballer, wrestler, truck driver... well, a lot of things. 

With their help, I plan to retrieve the pieces of my father's cane, avenge Connor and Trixie, and uncover the secrets locked in the Thievius Raccoonus.


	2. Part 1

The Paris city skyline had never looked so pleasant. The silky purple veil of evening had settled on the city, its lights twinkling like hazy yellow stars, the bustling city din fading away to the soft sounds of night. A cool autumn air eased between buildings, and the chirping of day birds gave way to cricket serenades.

On a dark rooftop, a lone fox surveyed the winding roads and aged city blocks below.

Carmelita Cooper was on the prowl. 

She tightened the laces of her red high-tops and pulled the dark hood over her head to hide her distinctive triangle ears. She patted her belt pouches and her trusty grappling hook, and looked to the next roof. She took a few steps back, and with a running leap, cleared the narrow alley and alighted on the next roof with a neat tumble, silent as the night air. She rose quickly and did it again and again, leaping from roof to roof with Olympian grace. She was swift, quiet, and precise. 

An unseen force in the dark.

A shadow.

“Are you in position yet, CC? Or are you just monkeying around on the roofs again?” An exasperated voice crackled in her ear.

She winced at Bentley's volume. “Yeah, totally! ...just about,” she added quickly. 

“Well, don't waste too much time, we don't know how long our window will be open!” the turtle reminded her. She could hear him quickly tapping at his keyboard.

“It's fine, love, we've got plenty of time.” She jumped to a roof with a squat water tower. She ascended it quickly, perching on its domed roof and fishing around in her pouch for a small pair of binoculars.

“If you say so. Do you at least have a visual on Interpol HQ?”

“See for yourself.” Carmelita poked a button on the side of the binoculars and peered into them. Through crystal lenses, she scanned the side of wide, crumbling brick building several blocks southwest, an overbearing Interpol sign attached to the side. A tiny light in the center of the instrument blinked as a signal transmitted her view to a computer screen embedded in a large, purple Van many, many blocks away.

“Great! The entry point should be on this side. Look for an air vent along the top floor.”

“Uhm...” Carmelita squinted, scanning along the bricks. “Got it,” she confirmed, spying the telltale square of metal slats. She slipped the binoculars into her pouch and unclipped her grappling hook. “Heading for the vent!”

“Be careful, squirt!” Boomed another voice in her ear, rattling her brain. “We'll keep the Van warm for ya. And don't smash any chimneys this time!”

“I will, Coach,” Carmelita replied, rubbing her ear. “And that was... one time. It was an accident, okay?”

“Sure thing, CC,” Coach Murray laughed.

Carmelita rolled her eyes and lifted her grappling hook. She aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The hook fired with a muffled pop, and went sailing over the rooftops, landing just over the edge of a billboard as the sturdy rope trailed behind it. She pulled the rope taut, gripping it tightly, and took a deep breath. A smile spread across her face.

She jumped.

The fox plunged into the deep Parisian shadows, swinging through the breeze at breakneck speed. She squeezed the draw button on her grappling hook, and the cord began to quickly wind itself back inside the gun, propelling her skyward as she reached the apex of the swing. With the click of another button, the hook disengaged itself, and clipped neatly back in place as Carmelita soared above the billboard. A split second before falling dozens of feet to the bricks below, she fired again, hooking it neatly on the corner of a fire escape, and swung, her long, fluffy tail whipping behind her.

As the city blocks passed beneath her in a blur, she made a hard right swing, grabbing onto a windowsill and hauling herself up to perch on the narrow ledge one-handedly as her grappling hook whipped back into place. Interpol HQ was the next building over, just across a dank alley. Her ears pricked at the sound of a distant siren, and she froze, poised like gargoyle on the ledge. 

The siren faded into the distance, and she let out the breath she was holding. She climbed to the next windowsill above her, now roughly level with the air vent. Fortunately it was plenty large enough for her to fit inside, a few feet wide and tall. Unfortunately, there was no ledge to hold on to, nor was the vent close enough to the roof to lift from above. This will require a little finesse, she thought. 

She pulled the hook free from its gun, letting out a bit of the rope with it. She twirled it a few times, eyes narrowed, tongue stuck out absently as she judged the distance. With a neat toss, the hook clattered against the corner of the vent, catching on the rusty slat.

Okay, just gotta pull enough to bend the corner a little...

She tugged. The metal creaked, but did not budge. Brow furrowed, she tugged harder, and the corner neatly popped free from the brick wall.

Along with the rest of the vent cover.

She awkwardly tried to course correct, snatching at the cord, but the hook snapped away from the grimy metal and bounced against the brick wall. The alleyway thundered with the sound of rickety metal clattering against brick as the cover bounced off the wall a few times before landing hard on the street below. 

Carmelita pulled her hood down over her ears, her eyes shut tight as the ringing faded. She slowly opened one eye, peering at the mess below.

“CC, what was that? Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, just fine,” she responded. “Must've been a cat across the street or something.” She winced. 

“Well, just be careful- it's late but there's bound to be someone around.”

“Alright, yeah got it. Hang on, I'm getting to the vent now.” She wound up the grappling hook, and with a swift, precise leap, grabbed the edge of the vent and climbed inside. 

“Great. Once you're in, your best bet is to follow the vent about ten meters straight ahead, then take the downward shaft on the left.”

“Right right, got it,” she whispered, sneaking along the thin metal floor of the vent.

“Keep your eyes peeled for the security system. We know for a fact they've recently employed laser technology in their facilities.”

“Heh, it's fine, Bentley, I got this,” she whispered confidently. “It's not like they put lasers in the air vents.”

She reached the shaft and peered downward, and was greeted by an intense yellow glow.

“Bentley, you're not gonna believe this.”

Bentley sighed. “Okay. We've trained for this.”

“Exactly. Alright, hang on...” Carmelita whispered, examining the passage criss-crossed with electric beams. Spotting a small ledge roughly halfway down, she unclipped her grappling hook and hooked it to the (thankfully sturdier) grate above her. She started to ease herself down and paused, glancing at her backside with a frown. She gathered her unruly tail as well as she could and stuffed it into her baggy gray pants, tucking it away to make her form slightly more narrow. Thus prepared, she climbed into the vent, hanging on to the cord as she eased herself down, hugging the cool metal wall. Inch by inch, she descended, her nose centimeters from the humming beam. You'd think they'd make these things invisible... she mused. 

She reached the ledge and disengaged the hook, repeating the process, painstakingly avoiding the lasers. This required several contortionist-like movements, sometimes forcing her to stretch herself across the shaft and twisting in mid-air, suspended by the sturdy grappling hook.

Finally she reached the bottom, and carefully loosened the vent cover, letting it swing open into the hallway below. She dropped, landing almost soundlessly, drew in her grappling hook, and lifted her hood, listening. The dark hall of Interpol HW was silent.

“Okay, I'm in,” she murmured.

“Great. Now you just have to locate the Inspectors' office...”

“That's okay, love,” she interrupted, stopping in front of a door painted lilac purple. “I still remember.”

She tried the knob. Locked. She knelt and pulled her trusty lockpick from her belt pouch. After a moment of fiddling, the lock gave. The fox slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. She glanced around. The office was cramped and square, right on the corner of the building, with a pair of dusty windows filtering in the dim Paris lights. Someone had left a lamp on, casting the room in a dingy yellow light. 

A row of beaten, mismatched filing cabinets lined one wall, while multiple stacks of loose papers occupied other surfaces. A massive world map took up another wall, decorated with familiar images tacked to familiar locations. She smirked at the gang's handiwork.

Most of the space in the room was taken up by a pair of desks. One was almost bare, devoid of so much as dust save two pens, one blue and one black, a small, blank calendar, and an age-worn rotary phone. The other was markedly more cluttered, with a vase of thriving purple flowers, a full rolodex, a half-eaten box of candy, a coffee mug of pencils, a large carrot-shaped pen, and a stack or two of unaddressed papers. It was quite the contrast.

She noted with amusement the dozens of grooves worn into the floorboards beneath the desks, scars from a ongoing battle for space in the office. 

“Have you found the Inspectors' office yet?” Bentley buzzed in her ear.

“Affirmative, locating the file now,” she confirmed, making for the filing cabinets. She began rifling through the creaking metal drawers, flicking through the ’C’ folder.

“Let’s see... Case, Coati, Conway, Crocuta... wait." She flicked through them again. Nothing, not even the smallest hint of Cooper anywhere among their archives. She glanced around at the myriad unfiled stacks. Her eyes rested on the desks.

She darted over and began poking around the drawers, searching. One drawer of the cluttered desk was filled with dried fruit snacks. She popped an apple chip into her mouth and kept looking. After raiding both desks, she was still empty-handed. She frowned. 

“Not to break your concentration, but have you located the file yet, CC?"

“Not yet,” she responded. “Still looking.”

“Right. Just be careful, the clock is ticking here.”

“Don’t worry, love; there's no one around this time of night.”

The door opened and someone walked in. 

It was a young male fox, wearing a simple, dark green vest and a loose, light-colored button down shirt, and a sensible pair of slacks. His brown shoes were well shined, and a modest watch ticked on his right wrist. He was slightly shorter than herself, with a slim build and a nice dark coat of fur. His tail fluffed itself to its maximum volume when he spotted her, dead still as he regarded her with wide, bright green eyes. In his left had was a cup of coffee. In his right hand was a beige folder labeled COOPER, CARMELITA. His gaze drifted from her to the photo clipped to the front of the folder in his hand: an image of her taken from the security camera of a museum in Madagascar, giving a wide toothy grin.

She gave him a wide, toothy grin.

There was a tense pause before a bright smile spread across his muzzle and he extended his paw, shifting the file to his other arm. 

“Hello there! Junior Detective Nicholas Wilde, the inspectors’ new sec- assistant,” he quickly corrected, ducking his ears a bit, bright green eyes flashing.

“Ah, so you're the Nicholas Judy’s mentioned. Carmelita Cooper, pleased to meet you, Nicholas,” she greeted.

“So I gathered,” he chuckled, indicating the file under his arm.

“I hear I have a bit of a reputation,” she hinted, giving an exaggerated wink.

“Hahaha, one hundred and sixteen pages worth!” Nicholas laughed, a bit too loudly, his tail stiff as a board.

“Awful early for office work, Nicholas,” Carmelita said with a coy tilt of her head. “Or awful late.”

“Ha ha, well, I'm just getting a head start on things! Little jet lag, just got into town, you know how it is. Plus I’ve always been pretty nocturnal!” He explained quickly.

“Ah,” she grinned. “Likewise.”

“Hahaha!”

“Hahaha don't do it,” she chuckled. 

“Haha ha... ha... What?”

“Don't do it,” she repeated, holding her smile. “The phone in your left pocket. Don’t try for it. I wouldn't want to do something drastic.”

Nicholas’ expression wavered. He’d been making the smallest movements, doing his best to distract her with small talk, but she was too sharp, already a step ahead of him.

“Was that... a threat, Miss Cooper?” He intimated, switching tactics. He was only a Junior Detective, but still a member of Interpol.

“That depends,” she said in a low voice, taking a step towards him. “Do you feel threatened, Nicholas?”

They held each other's gaze for a long, tense moment. All was silent save the crickets outside and the distant rattle of the aging air vents.

He tried run, gripping the file and dropping his coffee. She was on him before the cup hit the floor, pinning him to a filing cabinet and kicking the office door closed in a single, swift motion.

“Hngh,” Nicholas grunted, his skinny arms pinned behind his back. “You’re- hahh, a lot stronger than what your file says.”

“Thanks!” She said genuinely, keeping him in place with markedly little effort. “I'm sure a lot of that file is incorrect!”

Another buzz in her ear interrupted her. 

“What's your status, CC?”

“File’s in hand, love,” she confirmed. “See you at the rendezvous point?”

“What?” Nicholas tilted his head.

“What was that?” Bentley inquired.

“Nothing!” Carmelita reassured, glaring at Nicholas and putting a finger to her lips. “Okayseeyasoonoverandout!” She cut her mic.

“Don'tcha just hate unannounced calls?” Nicholas asked with a smirk.

“Yep, just the worst.” She tugged the file from his grip, kept him pinned with one arm. “Gonna have to leave you now, Nicholas, honey. Great to meet you, though, let’s talk again some time!”

“Ha ha, yeah, let's do lunch,” Nicholas snarked. 

“It’s a date!”

She left him handcuffed to the radiator, tucking the file into her shoulder bag. She opened one of the wide office windows, stepped out onto the ledge, and jumped.

She hopped from roof to roof, sliding along pipes and gutters and swinging between billboards with her grappling hook. Not a half bad night, she thought, mentally patting herself on the back. Broke into high security Interpol headquarters, met a cute guy, used his own handcuffs on him, obtained classified and unflattering information, and got away clean. Soon they'd meet up at the rendezvous point, split a pizza, and be out of town before dawn.

Not half-bad indeed, she thought, weaving her way around the base of a water tower.

A seething yellow bolt of crackling heat nearly took off her nose. She was blinded for a moment as it burst into a thousand glittering sparks against a support beam, leaving a blackened web of scorch marks in the rusted metal. 

She had milliseconds to react as another, and then a third bolt popped hotly against the base of the water tower. She scrambled and dodged, preservation instinct and muscle memory overriding coherent thought.

She back flipped off the side of the tower and ducked behind a broken air conditioning unit. She pulled her hood over her ears and peeked over the side.

A small figure stood silhouetted in the hazy Paris lights. Small, but strong. Two long, graceful ears stood on end, trained to detect the slightest sounds. A dark jacket and a rosy button down beneath, and matching pants. Specially tailored boots for movement and protection. Sharp, bright purple eyes, grey fur.

And one enormous, smoking shock pistol.

“Hey Carmelita,” called Inspector Hopps. She circled Carmelita’s position, one sidestep at a time, pistol aimed and ready.

“That’s an awful big gun for such a little bunny,” Carmelita replied from behind the air conditioner.

“Yeah, it’s the latest model! You should come a little closer, get a better look,” The Inspector invited.

“Maybe later, Jude, I’ve got a plane to catch!” Carmelita slipped back around the corner of the machine, keeping the bulk of it between herself and the gun-toting rabbit. She backed up, feeling out her next steps.

“Gutsy move, breaking into Interpol,” Judy continued. Her ear twitched at the scrape of a shoe against the rooftop, and she adjusted her aim accordingly.

“Guess I just missed the old place,” Carmelita replied, backtracking towards the water tower, slipping between the aging supports. She glanced to her right as her foot bumped against one of the rusty pipes, spotting an opportunity.

“Ah, that's too bad,” Judy called back. “We’re having a company barbecue next week, you should come, see he whole crew again!” She looked upward, judging the height of the AC unit, and crouched, readying her lapine leg muscles. 

“Sounds lovely, but I’ve got plans.” Carmelita took a step back, eyeing the rusty pipe, calculating its density. “How’re Max and Sasha doing, by the way?”

Judy leapt, shooting over the edge of the humming machine, and brought her pistol up, aiming at the hooded fox under the water tower. “Why don't you ask them yourself?”

“Sorry, Jude; gotta take rain check on that!”

Carmelita delivered a powerful kick to the weather-worn pipe. It creaked, cracked, and shattered. The tower lurched, its support beams groaning as the weight shifted and tilted downward.

The Inspector leapt back instinctively as the thief scrambled away. She dashed left, jumping from the AC unit as the heavy tower crushed it, sending water and sparks flying, lighting up the Paris night. She shielded herself with an arm from the unplanned shower, and looked around wildly as cold water seeped around her feet. 

She spotted movement just ahead, a dark orange blur vaulting over the side of the roof and onto the next one. She followed suit, running at a hard clip and leaping gracefully, hot on Carmelitas tail.

Carmelita smirked. It was like being at Interpol Academy again. Sprinting flat out through difficult obstacle courses, Judy only steps behind, both driving hard for the finish line.

Sometimes Judy won.

Things got complicated when Judy started firing her shock pistol. Carmelita banked left, barely avoiding a bolt to the legs. She was trying to slow her down. Judy pulled her shots every time, and Carmelita could remember how their coaches berated her for it. 

Another bolt, this one grazing her tail. She felt the heat rising through her fur. Little close there, Jude, she growled to herself.

They approached the next building, a lengthy tangle of scaffolding constructed along its side. Carmelita dashed for it, bouncing off a faded billboard and tumbling to her feet on a sturdy platform. Judy was a moment after. 

“Don’t make this harder on yourself, Cooper!” She threatened.

“I'm just making it a little more fun!" Carmelita teased as she began to climb the scaffolding. 

She zipped from one section to another, swinging and dodging as Judy fired intermittent rounds of lightning, leaving blackened metal in her wake. They climbed higher and higher, the wind growing cold, whipping Carmelita's tail about like a bright orange windsock.

“Stop, Cooper! I’m not giving up!” Judy shouted. Sweat rolled down her forehead as she bounded from section to section, her leaping ability well compensating for her height.

“I know!” Carmelita laughed. “I've always loved that about you!” She nimbly slipped around another blinding shot as she wound around the scaffolding, reaching the top and disappearing over the edge of the roof.

Judy grit her teeth and cleared the last twenty feet of scaffolding in two jumps, pulling herself onto the roof, panting and gripping her pistol tightly. She aimed it at the hooded vixen, hadn't even broken a sweat.

Judy fired.

Carmelita shifted left, and the bolt went whizzing into the night. Three more shots, none of them connecting. She moved like a boxer, her boots sliding against the damp rooftop. With each movement, Carmelita retreated towards the edge of the roof, until she stood at the very precipice.

“Stop pulling your shots, Judy. Just hit me,” Carmelita dared, adding an edge to her voice.

Judy scowled, her ears limp, purple eyes blazing.

“Put up your hands and get on the ground. I will not repeat myself,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“You know I can't do that, Judy.” Carmelita stood tall, her hazel eyes gleaming from under the dark hood.

Judy squeezed the trigger. Carmelita slipped left- and miscalculated.

She made an animalistic noise as the bolt struck her right arm, pain and rage at once rising through her. She slipped and tumbled backward off the edge.


	3. Part 2

“Carmelita-!” Judy squeaked, eyes wide, dashing to the edge of the roof.

Relief washed over her as she spotted the hooded thief clinging to a flagpole a few feet below.

“Hang on, I'm coming!” Judy cried out, and started to climb over the edge.

Carmelita shook her head. “Not today, Jude.”

“Just wait-”

“How’s your deadlift game lately?” Carmelita suddenly asked.

“What?”

Carmelita let go of the flagpole. Judy stood frozen above as the thief tumbled through the air like a swallow. 

“CC-!”

The thief turned in midair as she fell, grabbing her grappling hook with her good arm, and fired upward. 

The hook shot upward, just a few inches from Judy's face. She reached out instinctively and grabbed it. The cord stretched, the hook's gun grinding as Carmelita squeezed, slowing her descent. Judy gripped the cord, straining as she braced her feet against the rooftop edge, desperately keeping the fox from splattering. Her descent slowed by degrees, still at lethal speed.

With a scant few stories separating her from the cold, hard pavement, Carmelita brought the cord down to her muzzle and clamped her sharp vulpine teeth on the synthetic material. With a single snap, it gave, and she went into free fall.

Judy fell back onto the rooftop with an anguished cry as the cord went limp. Her ears suddenly perked at the sound of squealing tires and the rumble of a familiar engine. She scrambled up and peered over the edge just in time to see Carmelita hanging precariously to the roof of a speeding purple Van. The fox grinned and gave a little salute as the Van turned a corner and disappeared.

Whatever the inspector shouted was lost on the wind. Carmelita let out a laugh as they rounded the corner, tapping the roof with a boot as she hung onto the sturdy rails. Her ear buzzed as the wind and buildings rushed past.

“Carmelita! That was incredibly dangerous! What were you thinking?!”

“Haw haw, nice work, squirt! Really stuck that landing!”

“Thanks, coach!” Carmelita smirked to herself. She clenched her right fist, the feeling starting to return. Home free, she thought.

She thought, at least.

She was nearly flung off the roof as Murray made a sudden left, avoiding an oncoming vehicle before they could be cut off. Its headlights burned with a sharp yellow glow, its exterior as black as midnight. Its tires squealed against the pavement, the huge engine roaring as it kept pace with the Van like a hungry predator.

Carmelita clambered back onto the roof, her arm still tingling. Her hood had fallen, her wild hair and tail whipping in the wind. She smiled at the car and gave a little wave.

“Hello, Jack!”

Jack responded by shooting at her with a tranquilizer gun.

Carmelita dodged, dropping to the car roof as the dart sailed past her. The rabbit in the drivers seat of the black car was hidden in the dark, but she could feel his steely glare as he aimed the dart pistol again. 

“Hang on tight, squirt!” Coach shouted. She gripped the roll bars bolted to the Vans roof as Coach braked hard, tires squealing and smoke rising from the pavement. Jack’s cruiser shot past, another dart sailing harmlessly away into the night. He struggled to halt and turn as the Van peeled rubber and swerved right.

Carmelita yelped, eyes wide as the Van started to tilt onto two wheels. She hauled herself over to the other side, growling with effort as she gripped the roll bar and put all her weight on it. The Van fell with a whump as it kept rolling, the Paris streets a blur as they wound through the heart of the city. 

It didn't take Jack long to catch up to them. Another hail of darts lodged itself into the Van, while Carmelita barked at him about the paint job. The back doors of the Van flung open between rounds, and a short, spectacled turtle reached his turtle little hand out.

“Get in, CC!”

“Sorry about mucking things up, Bentley!” She shouted back.

“I’ll yell at you later! Just get in!!” He replied, the passing streetlights gleaming in his glasses. She reached for his hand, easing herself down.

thunk

They looked down. A dark stuck out of Bentley’s shell, the little purple feathers flapping in the wind.

“Ah, that's okay!” He thumped his chest. Can't get through the shell!”

thunk thunk thunk

Three more lodged themselves into his chest.

“Ah. Maybe that will,” he admitted, staring down at his new piercings.

“Augh!” Carmelita growled with frustration. “Fine.” She gathered herself on the roof of the Van, bracing. “I've got to get him off our tail. Sorry, guys!”

“CC, what-” Bentley started, trying to wrench the darts from his carapace.

Carmelita did what she had become exceedingly good at.

She jumped.

She landed just on the other side of a tall, well-groomed hedge and tumbled through the soft, dew-sprinkled grass. She stood dizzily, leaves and grass clinging to her hair and fur, which she dislodged with a quick full-body shake. She glanced around, finding herself in a small park somewhere deep in the city.

Her gambit paid off. The rumble of a familiar engine approached, the yellow headlights washing over her like hungry glowing eyes. She waited, tail swishing quickly, anticipating another burst of darts aimed in her direction.

Instead, her ears pricked at the sound of the driver's side door opening. A short, lean figure emerged, silhouetted in the headlights. A dark, well-pressed suit. Stark stripes running across his fur. Steely blue eyes glaring hotly. Ears tall, fists clenched, a shiny black baton in hand.

“You and your cousin really know how to make an entrance,” she said with a smile.

“Half cousin,” Jack snarled. “Get on the ground, Cooper.”

“I don't think so, player,” Carmelita smirked. “Not until I’ve gotten a proper hello out of you."

“Very well, then.” He pushed a button on his baton, and the end crackled with electricity as he shifted into a firm stance.

She grinned.

He didn't hesitate, leaping for her, baton aimed high. She slipped left as the crackling instrument whipped through the air, making her fur stand on end. She stayed on her toes, waiting patiently for an opening, letting the baton pass within inches of her as she dodged and feinted. Jack was quick and strong, but it was only a matter of time before he grew frustrated and made a mistake- or the other way around.

The baton found purchase, slamming into her right arm, which still tingled from the shock bolt. She resisted the urge to cry out, biting back. Her fur bristled, adding a bit more to her already larger form.

It bristled more as she caught the slightest smirk on Jack’s face.

There was a flurry of blows between the two; Jack struck here and there, always blocked by Carmelita’s muscled arms, every attempted jab with the electrified baton dodged. He swung low, she jumped. She kicked, he ducked. Soon, both combatants were panting and covered in grass clippings.

Carmelita tried for another feint, but Jack was a split-second ahead. The tiny tongs of the baton tapped the fox’s middle, and she snarled as a tongue of electricity ran through her. Her eyes blazed and her lip curled, pearly fangs shining bright.

Jack’s victory was very brief, for he had made a single mistake. He had been matching the thief blow for blow, shot for shot. But, no matter how many volts ran through his baton, the fact remained that compared to Carmelita, he was still a very small bunny, and he had gotten far too close.

One hand grabbed the lapel of his jacket, the other put an iron grip on his wrist. With a deep growl that made his fur stand up, Carmelita lifted him bodily and launched him into the air with an Olympian quality throw. The striped bunny sailed over the lawn, letting a string of curses fly as he arched towards the hedge on the other side of the park, the little crackling baton puffing out as it stuck tongs-first in the ground.

She didn't wait to see him land. She moved fast, slipping back into the shadows, back to the winding maze of Parisian back alleys. She leapt up the nearest for escape, once again gliding from roof to roof across the city.

She tapped her ear. “Bentley, Coach? Come in!” 

“We’re alright squirt!” Boomed a reply. 

“We’re T-minus 180 seconds to rendezvous point B!” Bentley chimed in.

“That's two and a half minutes, CC!"

“Thanks, Coach, see ya there!”

She scaled a billboard, pulled out her grappling hook, and fired.

Nothing happened.

“Oh. Right.” She slid quickly back down and continued her roof jumping. Adrenaline pumped through her, making her lightheaded. She just had to keep moving on this avenue, and she should reach the bridge in-

ZZAATT

A shock bolt landed at her feet.

“Sonuva-” she growled. She kept running, sparing a single glance over her shoulder.

Judy bee-lined for her, only a roof away. Another wave of bolts heated the air around her, drizzling her wild hair and singing her fur.

“Cooper is in pursuit, repeat, in pursuit, hiding north on Belle Chase and Saint Germain!... Okay, okay, Bellchasse!” She corrected.

She kept running. 

Before long she reached the last roof on the block, and she leapt down, landing hard, her knee stinging as she hit the pavement. 

Stretching out before her, wide and deep, was the Seine, cutting right through the city, the water dark and murky. She turned to face the Inspector.

Judy’s pistol was trained on her. The rabbit took a step, then another, closing in on her.

“I don’t like getting wet,” Carmelita stated.

“I don't care,” Judy replied. 

Carmelita backed up, right to the edge of the sidewalk. Another step and she would plunge into the water below.

“How many times do we have to do this, Judy?” She asked, looking her former friend in the eyes.

“You tell me, Cooper,” Judy shot back, taking another step forward. “I can go all night.”

Carmelita smirked. “How promising.”

Judy scrunched her nose. “Shut up.”

A huge black car roared out of the night, the headlights causing Carmelita to squint. Jack jumped out, one ear up, his jacket torn and covered in leaves and grass. He gripped the baton, the instrument no longer humming with power.

“You go left, I'll take her-” Judy began. She frowned. “The hell happened to you.”

“She threw me into a bush,” Jack growled.

“She threw you into a bush?” Judy asked.

“I threw him into a bush!” Carmelita confirmed.

“Shut up,” the Inspectors said in unison.

Carmelita rolled her eyes. She tried darting left while the distraction remained, but someone suddenly darted out of an alley, running smack into the fox thief.

“Oh, come on,” Carmelita muttered.

Junior Detective Nicholas Wilde quickly picked himself up off the ground. “No windows to jump out of this time, I’m afraid.” He leveled a taser in her direction, the prongs sparking brightly at the tap of a button as he circled her, stepping between her and the dark waters of the Seine. “Now drop your weapons and put your hands up.” 

“Who the hell are you?” Jack questioned.

“Junior Detective Nicholas Wilde, sir,” answered Nicholas. “I'm your new assistant.” 

“He’s the one I was telling you about!” Judy perked up, flashing a smile. “Hi, Nick!”

“Evening, Carrots!” Nick responded smoothly.

“You let him call you ’carrots’?” Jack narrowed his eyes at his half-cousin.

“Nick’s an old friend,” Judy dismissed. “He helped with the Bellwether case!”

“That’s right, Carrots,” Nicholas confirmed. “And we're about to make another bust. Hands up, Cooper.”

Carmelita sighed at him.

“We had a good thing going, Nicholas. A shame you'd go and change that.”

“You left me handcuffed to a radiator.”

“Maybe so,” she allowed. “How'd you get out of that anyway?”

“I cried for help until someone came!” He proudly stated.

“Clever boy.” Carmelita smiled warmly. “I really hope this doesn't come between us in the future, Nick.”

He made no reply, taser held steady. Carmelita looked between the three of them, eyeing them each with an unreadable expression. Below the Seine flowed dark and quiet, its waters still and reflective.

“Carmelita, last chance-,” Judy began.

“No more warnings!” Jack barked.

Nick glared and tapped the taser.

Carmelita turned to the rabbits and gave them a polite salute before rushing for Nick. In a single, smooth, and powerful motion, she grabbed his wrist before he could use the taser, pulling him forward. Her lips met his soft cheek, delivering a warm, quick kiss as he was hauled past, and she leapt neatly over the edge.

“Carmelita-!” Judy shouted, too late. With two bounds, she dove off the edge and into the inky river.

“Judy wait!” Jack growled. “Godda-!” He bounded after her, jumping headlong into the water, too.

Nick scrambled to his feet, rushing to the edge as the sound of two splashes echoed against the canal walls.

Judy’s head bobbed above the water, looking around wildly. “Carmelita! Where-” she gazed up at Nick, who pointed downward.

Carmelita Cooper clung to the side of the canal wall, using the rough bricks as handholds as she casually made her way towards the nearby bridge, where the Van was waiting. She blinked at Judy.

“I told you- I don't like getting wet.”

Judy made a wordless noise of frustration, raising her shock pistol.

“Judy, no!” Jack exploded out of the water, knocking the pistol from her hand as it fizzled and popped. The bright red firearm disappeared, sinking to the bottom of the Seine.

“Jack! Those are expensive!”

“You were going to electrocute yourself, you moron!” Jack shot back.

“Don't call me a moron!”

“Never mind! She's getting away!” Jack shouted, starting to swim. “Do something, Junior Detective!” 

“Me, alone, against Her.” Nick blinked. “No thanks. Besides, she’s alrady at the Van,” he gestured helplessly towards her. “Hold tight, Carrots, I’ll go find some rope.”

“Augh!” Jack splashed the water angrily as Judy swam desperately for the canal wall.

Carmelita clambered into the passenger seat of the Van, waving at the trio. “Au revoir! Thanks for a wonderful night out!” She called, shut the Van door, and disappeared into the night, leaving the Junior Detective Wilde rubbing his cheek as he waved back.

“Heck of an exit, Squirt,” the mustachioed Coach chuckled, speeding out of the city limits.

“Yeah, thanks coach,” Carmelita sighed.

“That could have gone... Smoother. Much smoother.” Groused Bentley as he pored over the files.

“Noted.” Carmelita leaned back in the chair, sore in a dozen or so places. “It's nice to play around home turf once in a while, but I think I'm ready to get out of town.” She turned in her seat toward Bentley. “What exotic location are we headed for, love?”

“Wales.”

“Great.”


End file.
